


The Things We Lost Along the Way

by Flavato_Forever, raredelightfulloveoak (XerxesBreak)



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Addiction, By Rose's Demand, Canon? What is canon?, Everyone's Favorite Whimpy Jerk Face, F/M, Fluff and Angst, O'Curtis(ish) ending, Toby Tries Hard But Not Hard Enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:09:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavato_Forever/pseuds/Flavato_Forever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/XerxesBreak/pseuds/raredelightfulloveoak
Summary: “I charged four hundred dollars an hour at my practice. Problem was, the racetrack took five hundred.” Toby working as a psychiatrist in New York. Set before he joined Scorpion.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Toby’s not-so-helpful listening to Paige rant about her mom in 3x09. Right now, we think the fic is going to be a few less than ten chapters, but it may grow or shrink as we write it. We hope you enjoy!

Toby glanced at the clock: only eight more minutes left in this appointment. His four o’clock on Wednesdays might just have been the most boring person he’d ever met: a stupidly-rich Wall Street trader who really just needed to divorce his wife already, just like half of all the other traders in New York. It didn’t take a Harvard degree to see that.

“I mean, she just keeps _nagging_ me about this trip to Bermuda. Does she not understand I can’t take off work?”

“Divorce her,” Toby interrupted. The banker looked taken aback by his bluntness.

“Excuse me?”

“You two obviously aren’t compatible. And by ‘not compatible’, I mean you can’t seem to get it through your thick skull that she’s trying really hard to connect with you, and you seem dead set on not taking a single week off of work, even though with that car you drive the entire world knows you can afford it. So I mean that you’re not suitable to be married to someone like her. But let’s just say you two aren’t ‘compatible’ and call it a day, shall we?”

The banker seemed surprisingly unwounded by Toby’s verbal attack; he actually looked almost thoughtful.

“Wow. Divorce. I hadn’t even let myself think of that before. But now that you mention it… I mean, gosh, when she talks about this trip…”

Toby looked back at the clock. There were technically four minutes still left in the session, but he didn’t think he could handle another second.

“Alright, that’s all the time we have for today, Chris.”

The trader stood up and handed over a check. Toby unfolded it. Four hundred dollars for sixty minutes of work -- or fifty-six minutes, if he was being honest.

“Thanks, Toby. I think we really made some breakthroughs today.”

Toby had to work to keep from rolling his eyes at the pseudo-psychological term his patients loved to throw around. “I’m glad.”

“I’ll see you next Wednesday, then?”

“I look forward to it,” Toby lied.

As soon as Chris left, Toby sank down in his desk chair. Sometimes he hated New Yorkers.

A minute later, there was a soft knock at the door. Toby slumped further down into the worn leather of his chair.

“Yeah?” he sighed, waving a hand absentmindedly. “Come in.”

Amy entered and took one of the seats usually occupied by his patients. Toby hardly acknowledged her, tired from the afternoon’s sessions.

“Hey.” She lightly nudged his leg with her foot. “I got you dinner.” She said, holding out a take-out bag. “You look exhausted. When was the last time you ate?”

When he finally looked up at her, she was smiling, but her eyes were serious. Toby shrugged as he took the food from her and set it aside.

“Yesterday? I don’t know.” The pain in his head was making it hard to recall anything, which, quite frankly, was irritating him endlessly. He really should eat something, but he didn’t want to give his fiancée the satisfaction of being right. Maybe when she left he’d think about it.

“Toby.”  The name was more of an exhale of breath. Her eyes were prodding him for more.

“I just forgot,” he said finally. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve got people to take care of.”  

Amy smiled again, but it was more tense this time. “Well, I’m here now, and your next patient won’t come for what, another hour?” She pulled a plastic fork out of her purse and poked it with him. “Eat.”

Giving up, Toby accepted the fork and took an over-exaggerated bite. The food was still hot, steaming rolling off of it; the room was full of its smell. He felt better as soon as he swallowed the first bite; the next one was less forced.

“Happy now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling good naturedly.

Amy nodded and she seemed to relax. After a few brief moments of silence she leaned over and stole a piece off Toby’s plate.

“Hey!” he protested, but she ignored him.

“So, how’s your day going?”

“Oh, you know. Saving the lives of these rich people by telling them what literally everyone else who knows them can see. But they pay well, so.”

Toby meant it as a joke, but Amy didn’t chuckle. He looked up at her and noticed that her smile was gone and her posture was straighter, no longer relaxed. She tightened her ponytail, a nervous tick. Over the past few months, she’d started to shy away from his joking about money. He could feel a gambling lecture on the horizon.

“Anyway.” She put on a smile.

Toby hated that smile. It was the type of smile she gave him when he was on a gambling streak, when he’d come home late, bruised and either much poorer or much richer than before. The kind where she was so obviously angry with him but was still trying to act like everything was alright. Sometimes he’d wish she would just yell at him, instead of just offering the tense silence she seemed to prefer, instead of just giving him that smile.

“Guess who invited us to a party tonight,” she said.

“Who?”

“Quincy!” And then she smiled, a _real_ smile, the first Toby had seen in awhile.

It stung him, more than he wanted to admit, the way she lit up, how naturally her smile paired with the name falling from her mouth.

“Which Quincy?” Toby asked, feigning stupidity.

“Come on, how many people do you know named Quincy?”

Toby shrugged, staring at his hands. “I’d have to count,” he muttered, realizing how petty he sounded.

“Toby please, can you get over yourself and stop acting like a child?”

“I’d rather not.”

Amy didn’t speak for a second, taken aback by his lack of maturity, but she was persistent. “I know you two haven’t always gotten along, but he’s really a good guy if you would just try to get to know him.”

“Oh, please. I really don’t want to spend my Wednesday evening trying to ‘get to know’ Quincy Berkstead. Why is he throwing a party on a Wednesday, anyway?”

“He got a job at Oceanside University in California. He’s leaving next week.”

“Oh, good. Whimpy jerk face got promoted to babysitting kids. It’s the perfect job for him.”

Amy sighed. “Come on, Toby. It’s a really prestigious position. Can’t you just be happy for him?”

“Okay, I’ll be happy for him, but only from afar. I’m not going to that party.”

“Fine,” Amy said, standing up.

“What?” Toby stood up too, not expecting her reaction.

“I’ll go by myself then.” She gathered her things and started walking out the door.

“Whatever,” Toby called after her and she stopped. “Have a good time,”

When Amy turned back around, the fight was gone from her eyes, replaced with something more tender. “You too. Be home tonight.” She paused, then, “Please.”

The longing in her voice was almost too much and Toby hated himself for causing it. The betting slips he had in his pocket were all of a sudden burning a hole through his jeans. When he didn’t answer, she smiled sadly, like she’d expected it, and closed the door softly on her way out.

Once the sound of her footsteps was no longer in range, Toby ran a hair through his hair and glanced at the clock on his desk. It was half past five; his last appointment of the day would be there in fifteen minutes. Taking a seat back at his desk, he picked the fork back up and continued eating the food Amy had brought.

After he finished and threw out the take-out bag, he dropped his head into his hands for a minute to collect his thoughts before there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, and in walked his five forty-five. He settled down for another exceptionally-boring hour.


	2. Chapter 2

Toby’s five forty-five appointment dragged even more than his four o’clock had. By the time six forty-five came, he was nearly banging his head on his desk in boredom. When his patient finally left, he spent a minute putting his things into his satchel and then walked out into the parking garage.

His car smelled of take-out food and the cheap gas-station air fresheners Amy loved. He cracked the windows, despite the New-York-winter cold outside.

It was only a ten-minute drive home. As much as he hated late clients, they at least allowed him to miss rush-hour traffic. When he pull into the parking lot of their apartment building, he didn’t see Amy’s car in either of their two spots; she must have already left for the party.

Their apartment was dark when he walked in, so he flicked on the living room light. He was exhausted; he considered just going to his favorite online-poker website and playing until Amy got back. She’d like it if he was here when she came home.

_But then you’d have to stop when she got home_ , he thought.

But he didn’t have much money, besides the checks he’d gotten from his clients today, which were still in the lock box at his office. He could go back and get them, but that would require driving all the way back the way he’d just came, unlocking his office, unlocking the lock box… It all sounded like too much work.

He walked into the kitchen and then saw Amy’s wallet on the counter. She must have forgotten it before leaving. He vaguely registered the thought that she better drive carefully, lest she get pulled over without her license.

Unable to resist, he opened her wallet and saw her debit card inside. He knew her PIN -- it was her father’s birthday; he’d guessed it on their sixth date. She had just gotten paid last Friday, and rent wasn’t due for another two weeks, so there had to be at least fifteen hundred dollars still in her account.

_I could double that fifteen hundred._

He shook his head. She hated when he used her money without asking.

_But if I use the money I win for the wedding_ …

* * *

 By the time Amy arrived at Quincy’s house -- thirty minutes after the party had officially started -- the house was full. Or maybe it was just that her mind was consumed by thoughts of the one person who _wasn’t_ there, and that made the rooms feel packed. She shifted the drink in her hand, the glass still almost full.

_How many drinks would it take to forget him and enjoy myself?_

She brushed the thought away. There wasn’t room for two addicts in their relationship.

She thought about starting a conversation with someone, but everyone was gathered in their own little groups. Friends laughing at inside jokes she wouldn’t understand and couples casually leaning into each other, hands caressing cheeks, soft words passed between mouths and ears. There was an ache in her heart, but she tried to drown it with another with a sip of wine. It stuck in her throat.

Maybe coming to the party had been a bad idea. She knew better than to leave Toby alone, especially when he had that look on his face, that longing for when he could leave work and waste away the night at a poker table.

Someone walked by her, waving a greeting, and Amy felt herself smile back instinctively. Once they passed, a whole wave of anxiety washed over her. She really should be going; Toby could be doing any number of stupid things right now. Setting her glass on the tabletop next to her, Amy started towards the door, head down, already reaching for her keys.

There was a startled “Oof” as she ran into something. Amy looked up to find Quincy looking down at her, surprised.

“You leaving already?” he asked, gesturing at the keys in her hand. “I was going to ask how you were enjoying yourself,” he joked, “but it seems like I’ve already got my answer.”

“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her hair, which was down and lose and in her face. “Toby’s home.” _At least, he should be_. She struggled to find her words. “He’s… not feeling well. I just don’t feel right being here without him.”

Quincy nodded. “You can never trust Tobias Curtis when he’s left to his own devices.” He laughed; Amy frowned.

“What?”

“Oh, you know. You never know what he might do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Amy. I might not have an IQ like Toby’s -- what is it, 170?”

She shrugged. If Toby were here, he’d correct Quincy with a quick _178_ , but she didn’t feel like fighting her fiancé’s pretentious battles for him.

“Well,” Quincy continued, “whatever it is, it’s much higher than mine. But I’m still a pretty decent psychiatrist. I know about his… problems.” He smiled slightly.

Amy looked away, unsure of how to respond.

Quincy’s smile fell, eyes softening. “You okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay. I’m engaged to a man I can’t even trust anymore.”

“He’s probably fine.”

“You think?”

Quincy shrugged. “No, he’s probably not, but” -- he picked up her abandoned glass and handed it to her -- “you deserve a night to yourself. I’m sure he could handle himself for a few hours.”

After a minute, Amy accepted the glass, smiling, and downed it in a single gulp.  

* * *

 It hadn’t taken long to double the fifteen hundred. It had taken even less time to lose that three thousand.

Toby was at one of his favorite casinos. It was within walking distance of his apartment, which was good for nights when the waitresses pumped him with so much scotch he couldn’t drive. The competition was normally pretty tough; people bet big, which made it easier to win big. It also made it easier to lose big.

Toby checked his watch; it was close to midnight. At this point, he was close to drunk and ready to be home. He just needed to win back Amy’s fifteen hundred dollars, then he could leave.

“Toby?” the dealer asked. “Are you in?”

“What’s the ante?”

“A hundred.”

Toby looked down at the table in front of him; he had three hundred-dollar chips left. He tossed one into the center of the table.

“I’m in.”


	3. Chapter 3

Toby didn’t get home until a quarter after four in the morning. By the time he finally left the poker table, head hung in shame, he’d lost four thousand dollars -- fifty-five hundred, if he counted the money of Amy’s that he’d brought to the casino. He’d stopped drinking soon after one, so he was sober enough to drive home -- and sober enough to feel terribly, terribly guilty.

He’d slipped into bed beside Amy, rolled so he wasn’t facing her, and fallen asleep.

The next morning, he woke up at eight to an empty bed. He pushed himself upright, his back aching slightly from spending so many hours hunched over a poker table. He slipped from the bedroom into the bathroom and showered quickly before going out to face Amy. 

She was sitting at the breakfast counter in the kitchen; her hair was a mess and there were still traces of makeup on her face left over from the previous night. An open bottle of ibuprofen and a plate of untouched toast were in front of her. She twisted in her seat to look at him when he came into the room.

“Have a good time last night?” She raised an accusatory eyebrow, the words sharp. 

Toby looked at her, surprised at the subtle attack. He was so use to her turning a blind eye to his antics that he was caught off guard by her sudden reproaching tone. 

“Good morning to you, too,” he spit back. He waited for the words to make a crack in her defenses, but Amy didn’t waver.

“What time did you get in last night? Three? Four? Five?” There was desperation in her words, but it was hidden by the burning fire in her voice.

Toby went for what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “Four-fifteen, but you were close, babe.”

Amy didn’t return his smile. “This isn’t funny,” she said. “I’m being serious here, Tobias.” He winced at her use of his full name. “I am tired of  pretending you’re okay, that you don’t have a problem. What do you want me to do?” 

“Did you enjoy the party?” he asked, changing the subject quickly. Her shimmery eyeshadow had caught his attention; she never usually spent too much time on makeup, and if he wasn’t so angry, it would have hurt that she cared enough to dress up for a party  _ Quincy  _ had thrown. 

“Answer my question,” she said. She paused before continuing, “And yes, Quincy was a good host.”

Toby examined her face, sucking up the meaning behind those words. 

“Oh?” he said, voice rising slightly, “Was he?”

“Yes, he was. Very courteous. He saw that I wasn’t having a good time -- because I was standing all alone in a corner -- and came over to me and struck up a conversation.” Amy gave him a pointed look; he chose to ignore it.

Toby looked from her smeared make-up to the pill bottle on the counter. “How much did you drink?”

“You should’ve come to the party. Then you’d know.”

“Eight drinks? Nine? Ten? Eleven?” He saw her react and he repeated, “Eleven?” His eyes widened as he realized he had seen her car in the parking lot when he got home from the casino. “Jesus, don’t tell me you drove home after eleven drinks.”

“Quincy drove me, thank you very much.” 

“He left his own party to drive you home?”

“I was the last one there.”

“You were the last one there? What the hell were you two doing?”

Amy shook her head angrily, nearly jumping off the stool she had been sitting on. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t  _ get  _ to be mad at me. One night. I wanted one night to have fun and forget about -- about  _ this _ .” She pointed at him. 

The heat of her words stung, and Toby took an involuntary step back. She kept going, all the pent up worry and fear and anger pouring out. 

“I just wanted to forget about the gambling and the staying out late and the wondering whether my checking account would’ve been emptied while I was sleeping.”

Toby looked away from her.

“I’m guessing that was you, wasn’t it?” she asked. “I called the bank this morning. I have four dollars in my checking account right now, Toby.  _ Four dollars _ .”

“So that gives you the right to go canoodle with Quincy Berkstead?” Toby snapped, trying desperately to change the subjects from his shortcomings.

“ _ Ugh _ .” Amy threw her hands up in the air theatrically. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Whatever.” Toby moved to grab his satchel from the sofa, where he’d left it when he got home. “I have a client at nine.” With that, he walked out the front door, slamming it behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit short, but we feel like it's still packed in other ways. Hope everyone is enjoying reading this story as much as we are writing it.


	4. Chapter 4

Toby’s nine o’clock arrived ten minutes after he got to the office. He was still fuming as the woman came in and sat down on his sofa.

“Good morning,” he managed, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. Not like the woman -- a housewife obsessed with some new brand of bags, each of which costed about as much as a month of Toby’s rent -- would notice if he spontaneously caught on fire.  

“Good morning,” she said breathlessly.

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, just awful. You would not believe what Barry said to me this morning.”

Toby opened his mouth to respond, but the woman cut him off.

“He said he wanted to summer in Florida this year. Can you imagine? _Florida_.”

Toby, who had never been further from home than Cambridge, just shook his head.

“I mean,” the woman continued. “If you’re really set on going somewhere in this country, why not California? It’s so much less humid -- you would not _believe_ what the humidity does to my hair. Does Barry not understand that?”

She went on and on, without even pausing for a breath, for thirty minutes of their hour-long session. Finally, Toby leaned back in his chair and groaned.

“Okay,” he said, cutting her off. “I can’t listen to this today. Listen, Sylvia, Barry works seventy-hour weeks. I’m sure he does not care at _all_ about what humidity does to your hair. I bet you he doesn’t even know what _color_ your hair is, okay? Your brother trades entire company’s pensions plans on a daily basis. He has bigger things to worry about. I’m sorry that you all you can focus your _tiny little mind_ on it where you’re _spending your summer_ , but the rest of the world has bigger fish to fry, okay? Can you even _grasp_ that concept?”

Sylvia frowned. Toby could guess what she was thinking. _Are therapists supposed to be this rude?_

“...Okay,” she said slowly. “I guess you’re right… But you should see him when he talks to me. It’s like he’s not even _listening_.”

Toby folded his arms across his chest as Sylvia kept talking. Eventually, he resorted to counting ceiling tiles -- he’d done it before; there were forty-seven in the room.

Even though he was barely listening to her, Toby could tell she was off-put by his outburst. As she was getting up to go, he wondered idly if she’d ever come back, or if she’d be able to stand the thought of being yelled at again.

Probably, he concluded. He got a lot of slack from his patients, thanks to his Harvard degree and his expensive sessions. People like Sylvia saw the price tag on their appointments and assumed Toby was some master therapist. It was probably the same reason she liked those bags so much. She’d enjoy telling her house-wife friends: _my therapist is just a genius. He charges four hundred dollars a session, you know._

Well, he was a genius, but he wasn’t always a good therapist. Especially coming fresh from a fight with Amy.

He didn’t have too much time to feel guilty; his ten fifteen appointment, another house-wife, this one with a borderline personality disorder she was in denial about, showed up soon after Sylvia left. This appointment, at least, wouldn’t be boring; he shook her hand and settled in to listen.

* * *

 When Toby got home that evening, he wanted nothing more than to just crawl into bed and push the events of that morning as far back into his mind as he could. But the memory of their fight haunted him and, as much as he wanted to forget it, he knew he couldn’t.

Amy was sitting on the couch reading. She looked up when he tossed his stuff onto the floor with a loud thump.

“Hey,” she said softly, closing her book.

“Hey.”

Toby stood there awkwardly, not really sure how to approach her. Her actions were becoming less and less predictable, even for him. Much to his relief, Amy made the first move.

“Sorry about this morning,” she said, her voice still quiet. “You just scare me sometimes.”

For once Toby didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he got out finally. And he was. He just couldn’t resist the feeling he got when he gambled; it was a constant itch and he could never ignore it for long.

“I didn’t sleep with Quincy,” Amy added quickly, looking at him with something like shame on her face.

“I never said--” he started, but she cut him off

“Yes, but you implied it.”

He was going to protest, to fight against her words, but she was right; there was no point in pretending otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Toby, you’re always sorry. I know you try, and I love you so much for that, but sometimes you need to slow down, stop talking, and actually do something.”

“I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“I don’t need any more promises right now.” She sighed. “I just need to know that I can trust you.”

Toby took a breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Amy looked surprised, like she didn’t expect him to agree with her. But she was still wary.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He threw himself onto the couch next to her, pulling her closer to him. Amy let out a short, amused laugh. With a raised eyebrow, Toby handed her the remote.

“Movie?”

“I’m not done with you yet, Tobias Merriweather Curtis,”  she teased, taking the remote from him, “but I’m tired. So for tonight, let’s just forget about this morning, okay?”

Toby nodded. The first feeling of calm he’d had in ages settled over him as she rested her head on his shoulder and cuddled closer to him. He kissed her temple, allowing himself to forget his guilt, if just for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up!!! We went a bit to the dork side on this lol ;P hope you lovelies all enjoy and we'd always welcome comments if you have the time.

 

The next morning, Toby woke up before Amy. She was tangled in the covers, her hair a mess, her mouth open comically; he chuckled softly.

He rolled out of bed and walked into the living room to check his email. Their computer took a minute to start up, but when he got on, he saw two emails, cancelling both of his appointments for the day. He smiled at the prospect of a day at home.

Amy came out as he was closing the email window. Her wild hair had been tamed by a sharp ponytail.

“Good morning, honey,” Toby said, getting up to kiss her cheek.

“Hey, Toby.”

“My appointments for the day were cancelled.”

“Both of them?”

“Yep.” He grinned at her. “What do you say to pancakes?”

Amy returned his smile. “Sounds perfect.”

                        ------------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later, they were sitting at the breakfast counter, two plates, sticky with syrup, in front of them.

As Amy finished her last bite, she said, “How do you feel today?”

Toby bit his tongue to keep from shooting back a joke. “Well,” he said, “it’s hard. But it’s better when you’re here. I’m okay right now.”

“I’ll call in sick today. We’ll spend the day together.”

“Amy…” He didn’t want to point out to her that they needed the money from her working, seeing as he’d just gambled away the entirety of her last paycheck.

“No, really. They can survive without me for one day.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I want to be with you.”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Okay.”

She raised one eyebrow. “ _Star Wars_ marathon?”

Toby laughed. “You know me too well.”

                          ------------------------------------------------------------------

It was nearing the end of _Revenge of The Sith_ when Toby thought he heard a small sniffle. He turned towards Amy who was hastily wiping her nose with the end of her sweater.

“Are you _crying_?”

“No!” she protested. “I just…” She waved a hand towards the screen. “The Jedi and… and the clones and that damn Order 66.” She smack his shoulder,.“Hey, you cry every time Leia rescues Han from Jabba.”

“Because that is _romantic_ ,” Toby defended. “I can’t help it if I’m a sucker for a good love story.”

“Dork.” She laughed, returning her attention to the screen.

When she started reciting lines along with the characters, Toby leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Nerd.” He poked her side and she swatted his hand away, saying the lines louder just to spite him.

When Padme approached Anakin on Mustafar, Amy took his hands dramatically and, using her best princess voice, followed along with the movie.

“ _You’re going down a path I can’t follow!”_

Toby smiled with a roll of his eyes and kissed her cheek. “Are you sure I’m the dork in the relationship?”

“Maybe?” she whispered, landing a soft kiss on his lips. “Now be quiet. You’re missing the movie.” She said pulling away, but Toby wasn’t quite ready to let her go.

“I missed this,” He said taking her hand.

“Yeah, me too.”

                            ------------------------------------------------------------------

When _Return of the Jedi_ ended, the TV flipped to the tail end of the five o’clock news. It was nearly ten at night; Amy and Toby were still sitting on the sofa, legs tangled in each other’s, a pile of take-out containers on the table in front of them. Amy started fiddling with her hair the way she did when she felt like she needed to wash it.

“Do you need to take a shower, babe?” Toby asked, running a hand through her hair.

Amy smiled, lifting a piece to her nose.  “Do I really smell that bad?”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant, you goof. You just look like you wanted to.”

“Well…” She looked down the hall, towards the bathroom, and then back to him, eyes conflicted like she was fighting against something.

“Come on,” Toby prompted.  “I’ll be okay for twenty minutes.”

Amy bit her lip, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He said, running his hands up her arms. “I’ll be waiting here when you get back.” He cupped her face in his hands, landing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Okay,” she said after a minute. “I’ll be done in twenty minutes, promise.”

She got up and went into the bathroom. Toby stretched out on the couch, watching the news anchors. They were wishing the audience a happy Friday night.

All of the sudden, Toby remembered that the Riverdale casino offered free drinks on Friday nights. He glanced over at the door, his mind already playing with the notion.

_Just a few hours and I could earn the money back,_ Toby told himself, but he knew a few hours would turn into a few mores hours, and a few more, and he’d probably end up no better than he was last night.

The sound of the running water drowned out his senses, the guilt creeping back in to gnaw at his brain.  

_Just a few hours..._

_\------------------------------------------------------------------_

Amy got out of the shower fifteen minutes later. She rushed through getting dressed, wanting to get back to Toby as soon as possible. When she walked out of their room, wearing her favorite wool pajamas, though, he wasn’t on the couch.

“Toby?” she called, a burst of panic shooting through her. She took a breath, trying to calm herself, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

She hoped he’d just gotten up for a snack, but when she walked in the kitchen, he wasn’t there, either.

She went over to the front door. Her heart stuck in her throat, eyes already starting to mist. She didn’t want to look, but she had to: his car keys weren’t in the key bowl. A small part of her had been holding onto the hope that she was wrong, but she wasn’t: he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

It was amazing, sometimes, how much faster time went when Toby was at a poker table than when he was in his sessions. Before he knew it, he was looking at his clock, and it was five in the morning. It had been a rocky night -- he’d started off by losing a thousand dollars over the course of two hands, but then he’d worked up to five grand in the black, only to lose it in a single hand. He’d been working his way back up; he had three thousand dollars in chips in front of him now.

“Whoa,” he said after he saw his watch. “It’s getting late.”

“We’re a few hours past ‘late’ at this point, Toby,” someone across from him said. “You in or you out?”

Toby shook his arm so his sleeve came down, covering his watch. “In.”

* * *

 When Amy awoke the next morning, Toby was not in bed beside her. She allowed herself to hold onto a fleeting hope  that he’d come in and collapsed on the sofa, but he wasn’t in their living room, either. His car keys weren’t in their key bowl; he was still out.

It wasn’t unheard of for Toby to be gone overnight. It was a Saturday morning, so he didn’t have any patients; he would probably stumble in sometime around noon and drunkenly beg her to forgive him.

Not wanting to encounter a drunk, guilty genius, Amy grabbed her keys and her purse and walked out the front door. On her way down to the parking lot, she got out her phone and dialed Toby’s number. After ten rings, it went to voicemail, as she’d expected it to.

“Toby,” she said. “It’s about eight in the morning on Saturday. I don’t know where you are -- I don’t know if I _want_ to know where you are. But I’m worried about you. When you get this message, please call me to let me know that you’re okay. My phone will probably be off but I’ll check the messages every so often. I… I hope you’re alright.”

She hung up, holding back tears. Now in the parking lot, she climbed into her car. There was a coffee shop a few blocks from their house where she liked to go when she was avoiding going home; she turned the car on and headed there.

* * *

 Amy spent the next two days spending as little time in their apartment as possible. She spent the days at the coffee shop, showing up as soon as it opened and staying until the baristas shooed her out at night. She tried reading a novel, but she ended up spending most of the time wondering about where her fiancé was. She’d periodically check her phone, but no calls from Toby came. Every morning, when she’d wake up, she’d wander around the apartment, hoping to find him collapsed on the sofa or crying in the shower, but he was never there.

On Monday morning, she found Toby’s appointment book on their computer desk. After a few steadying breaths, she went down the list of all his Monday patients -- eight people, in all -- and called them, cancelling their appointments.

When she finished that, she went to his office. Toby probably wasn’t there, but she didn’t feel ready to start calling hospitals yet. The office building felt more manageable.

She had a key to his office; the fact that his door was locked when she got there meant it had probably been a wasted trip, but she went in anyway. Sure enough, the room was empty. No cocky psychiatrist in the big, leather chair.

It wasn’t until she saw the date marked on the calendar on his desk that she realized it was her birthday. Twenty-seven. When her mother was twenty-seven, she’d been married, pregnant with Amy’s older brother.

Amy rubbed her eyes, which were threatening to fill with tears again. To distract herself, she went out into the hallway, eyes searching until she found what she was looking for. The vending machines.

She pulled pulled a dollar bill out of her wallet and fed it to the machine. A lone Hershey’s bar fell out. She picked it up, unwrapped it and took a bite. A part of her still wasn’t satisfied. Pulling another dollar out, she got another bar, and then another, and another. When she was pulling the tenth one out of the machine, someone came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned around. “What-- Oh, Quincy?”

Quincy stood in front of her, a wide smile on his face. “Hi, Amy.”

“I -- I forgot you worked here.” She said, almost dropping her purchases.

“Yep, as of two years ago. Much to Toby’s chagrin, of course.”

Amy realized, a beat too late, that she was supposed to laugh.

“I’m just here cleaning out the last of my stuff,” he continued. “I leave on Thursday for California.”

“Right, right, of course.”

There was an awkward pause, then Quincy said, “That’s a lot of candy bars.” He pointed to the chocolate in her arms.

“Yeah, it’s… It’s my birthday. Thought I’d treat myself.”

“Well, that’s not a great birthday present. I’d expect you deserve flowers, at least. I’m sure Toby’s on that, though, isn’t he?”

At that, Amy couldn’t help herself; she started crying.

“What?” Quincy looked alarmed. “What did I say?”

“Toby’s… gone,” Amy choked out, between gasping, tearful breaths. “I… haven’t seen him… in three days.”

Quincy’s face fell, almost like he was in shock. “Wow,” he said, “that’s low… Even for Tobias.”

Amy laughed bitterly. “I know, but I really don’t want to deal with any of this right now. Now if you’d excuse me”  -- she held up her candy bars -- “I have a birthday dinner to attend.”

She started to walk away, but Quincy stopped her. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sound rude,” He looked down at the bite-sized-diabetes in her arms. “I could make it up to you,” he offered.

“Oh really? And how would you do that?”

“Come to dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“It’s the least I could do. Nothing fancy, if you don’t want; I just hate to leave you alone with, what is that, _ten_ Hershey’s bars?”

“I’m not sharing any, if that’s what you’re asking,”

Quincy took her hand, lightly, almost as a question. Amy didn’t pull away. “I don’t bite,” he said. “Come on. I know a great burger joint.”

* * *

When they reached her apartment, after a laughter-filled evening, the moon was shining, casting a warm glow over the night. Any other night it would feel peaceful, but Amy was anxious to get inside, to curl up into her bed and give her mind over to sleep. Maybe tonight was the night he’d come home.

Once she had that thought, her worry turned to anger. How many times had he done this to her before? Too many to count.

“Hey.” A voice cut through her consciousness. _Quincy_. She’d forgotten he was there.

“Amy, are you okay?”

_I’m fine,_ she thought. But she wasn’t. She felt the emotions she’d been trying to push down crawling back up.

“Do I deserve this?” It came out as a whisper. She didn’t even really mean to say it, but it fell out anyway.  “Sorry.” She waved him away. “Thanks for the dinner Quincy. Have a good night.”

Quincy didn’t move. “He does love you,”

“What?”

“Toby. He loves you. It’s easy to see that, but…” He paused before continuing, “Sometimes, just because people love each other, doesn’t mean they’re meant to be together.”

Amy didn’t respond.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “no matter how much you care for someone, it’s just not enough. It’s one thing to care for someone and another to be able to change yourself for them.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.” Amy was trying desperately to block her heart from understanding what he was trying to say.

“We’re not talking about me.” Quincy took a step closer, the moonlight reflecting off his glasses. “Amy, he does love you, but you don’t deserve this.” His voice had gone soft, she hated that the sound of it rushed through her like smooth, melted, chocolate, leaving her warm inside.

“I don’t want to leave him,” she whispered, their closeness becoming painfully more noticeable now. “I love him. I just want him to stop gambling.”

“He doesn’t want that.”

“I know, but--”

“Amy, do you really want to spend your life cleaning up after someone, worrying if they’ll be there when you get up in the morning?”

She didn’t want that. There was part of her -- a very angry part -- that didn’t want that to be her life, that hated Toby for doing this to her. But she was trying to fight that part of her; the flames were threatening to choke her if she didn’t keep them in check.

_No_. She didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she fixed him with a stare, daring him to keep flooding her with information she had known for a while. “I didn’t ask for a psyche eval,” she said finally.

Then Quincy smiled at her, catching her off guard. “I wasn’t trying to give you one. I just want you to know that you’re special,”

“I do.”

“And important,”

“Okay.”

“And you deserve what more than what Toby is giving you,”

“I’ll tell him you think so.”  There was a brief silence. “If he ever comes home,” she added.

She still couldn’t stop her mind from thinking about their closeness, the lack of space between them. It was a dancing electricity; she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

And then the space was gone, replaced with the soft warmth of lips pressed against hers. Amy wasn’t sure who kissed first; her mind danced between anger, regret, worry, and the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time a kiss felt like _this._

It was short, over before she knew it; suddenly, the cold night air was blowing against her face again.

Then her phone buzzed, reminding her of Toby. They both jumped, hastily, she checked her phone. It wasn’t him. But still, the thought of  him, her _fianc_ _é_ , was stuck in her mind.

“I need to go.” She rushed inside, leaving Quincy alone in the moonlight.


	7. Chapter 7

Amy was eating breakfast the next morning -- a modest meal of cold cereal; she wasn’t in the mood for anything like pancakes -- when Toby finally came home.

He came through the door looking like death. His hat was gone, eyes bloodshot, his face pale and tired. From one look, Amy guessed he hadn’t slept since he left their apartment Friday night.

“I’m sorry,” she said, incapable of anything but anger, “who are you?”

Toby turned to look at her, his face half glare, half frown.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only occupant of this apartment right now,” Amy continued. “I mean, I’ve been the only one here for, what, three nights?”

“Please, Amy,” Toby said gruffly. “I am not in the mood right now.”

“Oh, you’re ‘not in the mood’?” She got up and walked over to him. “Well, you know, I wasn’t ‘in the mood’ to come out of the shower on the Friday and find my fiancé -- who had _promised_ me he wasn’t going anywhere -- completely gone, without a trace. I wasn’t ‘in the mood’ to spend my weekend worrying you had been stabbed by a bookie in a back alley. I wasn’t ‘in the mood’ to wake up alone, on my _birthday_ , and call all of _your_ patients to cancel _your_ appointments without any reason. But that’s what I did, Toby.”

“Look, Amy, I’m sorry you spent your birthday alone…” She looked away from him, and he caught something in her face. “Or you didn’t?”

“Well, I…”

“What the hell did you do, Amy?”

“What did I do? I went out to dinner with Quincy, that’s why _I_ did. What did _you_ do?”

“You went out to dinner with _Quincy_?”

“Oh, stop.” She waved her hands dismissively. “Don’t act like this was some terrible transgression. You were _gone_ , Toby. I had _no idea_ where you were.”

“What, so does that mean we weren’t engaged? Does your knowledge of my whereabouts have a direct correlation to your fidelity?”

“Toby, stop!” Amy took a step back from him; she was worried, if she were so close, she might try to hit him. “Can you not understand that what you did was so, so wrong? Do you know realize how absolutely terrified I was? I was this close” -- she held her thumb and her index finger a millimeter apart -- “to calling hospitals, Toby. I thought you might be dead.”

“Amy…” Toby started towards her; she held her hands up to stop him.

“No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to apologize and then start a movie and try to make me forget what happened. I’m done, Toby. I’m done with this stupid will-my-fiancé-be-home-tonight game.”

“What are you saying?”

Amy ran a hand through her hair. “I think this engagement is a bad idea.”

“Whoa, Amy, let’s not make any rash decisions--”

“Rash decisions? I’ve had an entire weekend to think this over, Toby. As long as you’re gambling like this, I can’t be with you.”

She pulled off her engagement ring. It was odd, the skin on her finger breathing in air for the first time in months. She held the ring out to Toby, but he wouldn’t take it; she set it down on the counter.

“I just -- I’m sorry, Toby.”

With that, she slipped past him and walked out of their apartment.

* * *

 Within the hour, Amy found herself on the steps of Quincy’s brownstone. This whole thing might have been a bad idea, but she was too upset to think about that. She raised a hand -- an odd-looking, ring-free hand -- and knocked on the door. Quincy appeared a minute later.

“Hey, Amy!” he said light-heartedly, before seeing the frown on her face. He sobered instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Toby and I…” Amy began to cry despite herself. “Toby and I broke up.”

“Oh, God.” He drew her into his arms, shutting the door behind him. “What happened?”

“He showed back up,” Amy said, as Quincy led them to his dining room table. “And we got into this big fight, and I told him I didn’t think I could be with him anymore. And then I gave him his ring and I came over here.”

“Oh, Amy.” Quincy cupped her hands in his. “I’m so sorry.”

“I just… God, now that I’ve done it, I don’t know why I didn’t break things off sooner.” Now that the dam had broke loose, she couldn’t stop herself, the pent-up emotions falling out with a steady stream. How long had it been since she let herself get angry, _really_ angry?

“You were together for a long time,” Quincy offered. “You had some good times together. It makes sense that you wouldn’t want to give that up.”

“Ugh, I just feel so stupid. I wasted three years of my life on that… that idiot.”

“Hey,” Quincy said softly. “Tobias Curtis is many things, but he’s not an idiot. Even I can admit that.”

Amy looked at him. “You know, he wouldn’t say the same thing about you.”

Quincy laughed. “I wouldn’t expect him to.”

Without thinking, Amy leaned forward and kissed Quincy. Yesterday she might have regretted it, but now it felt almost right. He kissed her back for a moment before pulling away.

“Amy…”

Amy sighed. “I know, I know, I just broke up with your co-worker…”

Quincy shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I honestly don’t care much about the feelings of a coworker whose nickname for me is ‘whimpy jerk face’.” Despite herself, Amy chuckled. “But I’m leaving for California in two days. I don’t think we should start something we can’t finish. Unless of course…” Quincy trailed off.

“Unless?”

“I mean, it might be a crazy idea, but you could come with me, if you want.”

Amy smiled. “You know, Quincy, at this point, I’m kind of immune to crazy.”


	8. Chapter 8

Toby had expected Amy to come back. When she stormed out, he thought she’d surely show back up sometime before he went to sleep. When the sun set and he started getting ready for bed, he assumed she needed a day or two to cool off, and she’d come back later in the week. It wasn’t until the weekend came and went -- the only contact from Amy being a curt text saying she needed some space and would come to collect her things later -- that he started to worry.

One day, a Tuesday, about two weeks after their fight, he came home from work to find Amy’s stuff completely cleared out of their apartment; her key was left on the counter, on top of a note written in her looping handwriting.

_Toby,_ she’d written. _I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye to you. I’ve decided to move to California with Quincy. I didn’t think I could say that to your face. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us. Please stay safe._

She’d signed it, _Best wishes, Amy_. Were they so far gone that he didn’t even deserve a “love” anymore?

After reading the note, Toby cancelled all of his appointments for the rest of the week. He spent the day moping around the house, looking at the empty spaces where Amy’s stuff used to be. The next morning, he booked a flight to California.

* * *

 It wasn’t hard to track down Quincy’s address; it took a few minutes on the computer to hack into the USPS database and find a forwarding address. His house was only a ten-minute taxi ride from LAX.

Toby had checked online and saw that Quincy was teaching a class from one to three on Thursdays, so he went to the house at two and knocked on the door. Amy answered.

The look on her face was almost unforgettable. She was shocked -- she looked almost like she was seeing a ghost.

“Toby… What… what are you doing here?”  

Toby shifted his weight between his feet. He had practiced what he was going to say to her to win her back, but now that he was standing there, on the steps of her new house, _Quincy’s_ house, the words had left him.

“I came to see you,” he said, like it wasn’t already obvious.

“I see that. Are those _flowers_?”

Toby looked down at the bouquet in his grasp. “ I wanted to apologize. And I saw this at… the store, and I know daffodils are your favorites and…” He stopped, the look on her face silencing him, like she still couldn’t believe that he was real, that he was really there, speaking, living, _breathing_.

“This isn’t you trying to make me change my mind about leaving you, is it?”

“Well…”

“Toby, it’s over. How can you not understand that?”

“Amy, you can’t just walk away from--”

“Stop. Don’t make this my fault. _You’re_ the one who ruined our relationship. _You’re_ the one who cared about the racetrack more than you cared about me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Then why were you never home? Why did I have to call all of your patients on my birthday -- my _birthday_ , Toby -- and make up some cryptic excuse for cancelling their appointments because _you_ couldn’t be bothered to be an actual adult? You had to see this coming, Toby.”

“Look, Amy, I’ve made mistakes--”

“Uh-uh. A ‘mistake’ ” -- she used air quotes “would be leaving the toilet seat up one too many times, or bitching about my mother when she came to visit, or forgetting our anniversary -- all of which you did, by the way. But your _disappearing_ for _days_ at a time, my having to call hospitals because I thought you were _dead_ … That’s not a ‘mistake’, Toby. That’s what someone does when they want to ruin a relationship.”

“I never wanted to ruin us. You know that.”

“I do. Or, at least, I think I do. But you can’t change what’s already happened. This relationship” -- she motioned to the space between them -- “was over a long time ago.”

“But it doesn’t have to be--”

“Yes, it does.”

Amy said it defiantly, and Toby didn’t know what to say in response. So they stood there silently, two ex-lovers regarding each other for the last time. Even in that moment, as she was washing her hands of him, Toby thought she was beautiful.

Finally, without another word, she closed the door, leaving him alone on the front steps. He considered knocking on the door again, planting himself on the stoop and refusing to move until Amy came back to New York with him. But he wouldn’t put it past her -- or Quincy, whenever he got back -- to call the cops on him. So he turned around and started walking down the street.

It was so warm in LA, despite the oppressive January cold that was currently shrouding New York. If Toby weren’t so miserable, he might have enjoyed the walk.

It turned out that, two blocks down from Quincy’s house, there was a casino. Toby didn’t even hesitate before walking inside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's followed this fic! We hope you enjoy this final chapter!

In some cruel twist of fate, Toby did exceptionally well that day. He started with sixteen dollars, all the money he had in his wallet, and an hour later had a pile of three grand in front of him. The LA poker players were apparently much less skillful than the ones he normally met in New York; he was cleaning them out easily.

Soon, he noticed the people at his table -- the ones who had been stubborn enough not to give up after five lost hands -- grinding their teeth with anger. Toby knew he should slow down, let them win a few hands, at least; he could read the tendency for violence on their faces. But his break-up had left him reckless, with a complete disregard for his own well-being. _Let them beat me up_ , he thought.

It was about four in the afternoon when the two biggest men at his table stood up abruptly.

“I think we should take this outside,” one of them said gruffly.

Toby shrugged, not even caring enough to snap back some snarky comment. He let the men lead him into the alley behind the building.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” the second man said. “You owe us a lot of money.”

“Oh, really? Because, where I come from, only the people who _win_ the game get to keep the cash,” Toby said.

The men took an almost-synchronized step towards him, standing over him threateningly.

“We’re not in New York right now,” the first one said.

Toby was aware of the situation that was forming in front of him, the situation he was failing to de-escalate: these men were bigger than him and they were angry. Harvard didn’t offer any hand-to-hand combat classes; Toby was woefully unprepared for this kind of thing. He really needed to back down, to offer the guys their money back and hightail it out of there. But he’d just lost his fiancée; he wasn’t in the mood for diplomacy.

“Of course we’re not in New York. People don’t dress this ugly in New York.”

The first man responded to the insult with a swift punch to Toby’s gut. Toby buckled over, grabbing his abdomen with his hands and grunting. The second man pushed him upright and then punched his face; Toby felt the cartilage in his nose breaking.

“Hey,” a voice shouted, pausing the fight.

Toby turned to see a vaguely-familiar face coming out of the back door of the casino; it was a scrawny brown-hair guy who’d been fiddling with the casino’s security cameras an hour before.

“Move along, dude,” the first man said. “Nothing to see here.”

“What’d this guy do?” The security-camera guy pointed to Toby. He couldn’t have been a casino employee; Toby pegged him as a tech guy, maybe a contractor from some LA company. Not exactly a knight in shining armour.

“He cheated us--”

“I didn’t cheat,” Toby protested. “It’s not my fault you guys suck at poker.”

The second man punched Toby in the face again, causing the security-camera guy to leap forward.

“Wait, wait,” he said. “How much did you two lose?”

The men looked at each other before the first one said, “Five grand.”

“No, you didn’t--” Toby started, but he was cut off by a quick kick to his shins.

“Okay, okay.” The security-camera guy pulled a white envelope out of his pocket. “I just got paid four thousand in cash for the security reboot. I’ll give it to you if you leave him alone.”

“We lost five grand,” the first man emphasized. Toby didn’t say anything this time.

“I know, but beating this guy up isn’t going to get it back. You think those chips are still on that table where you left them? They’re long gone by now. So your options are four grand or a murder charge; which one sounds more appealing?”

The men grumbled a little, but came forward and accepted the envelope. As they were walking back into the casino, they turned around and said to Toby, “Don’t come back around here.” Toby didn’t respond.

When the men were gone, the security-camera guy came up to Toby. “Are you alright?”

“Bruised liver, broken nose, mild concussion maybe. But I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”

“No, I’m a doctor; they won’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”

“Well, come on, then.” He offered Toby his hand.

“What? Are you going to lead me off into the sunset?”

“It’s four o’clock; the sun won’t set for another hour.”

“Whatever. Thanks for saving my ass, dude, but, if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way.” Toby turned to walk to the street.

“Toby, wait.”

Toby turned back. “How did you know my name?”

“Dr. Tobias Curtis, world-renowned behaviorist. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize I was that well-known on this coast.”

“You’re not that well-known on _any_ coast. I just like to keep tabs on my fellow geniuses.”

“Oh, you’re a genius?” Toby asked sarcastically.

“One-ninety-seven IQ.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Okay, nice to meet someone else in the club. Normal sucks, Mensa games are too easy, blah, blah, blah. See you never.”

“I’d like to offer you a job.”

This made Toby pause. “A what?”

“A job. I run a company that employs geniuses. We solve problems. We’re called Scorpion.”

“Scorpion.” The name was familiar to Toby -- maybe he’d read an article about the company a few years back. “You’re not Walter O’Brien, are you?”

“Guilty.”

“Mm. You’re reputation precedes you, as well.”

“Good things, I hope?”

“Some good things, some not-so-good.”

Walter shrugged. “You know normals. They’ll put anything in the news.”

“Well, thanks for the offer, but I have a job back in New York.”

“Then what are you doing in LA?”

Toby frowned; he didn’t want to think about it. “Some personal stuff.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with your gambling problem? Or your recent break up?”

“What are you, some kind of stalker?”

“Like I said, I like to keep tabs on other geniuses. We could use someone with your skills on the team, if you’d be willing to move to LA.”

Toby thought of his now-shattered life back in New York. He imagined going back to his apartment alone, boxing up the rest of Amy’s things and sending them to her and Quincy’s new house, going to see those dreadfully boring, self-centered patients every day again. The thought made him wince.

“What kind of work would I be doing at Scorpion?” he asked.

Walter smiled.


End file.
